In the Long Run

I attended my husband’s family reunion this last week, and I had only one major complaint. No, it was not the obligatory family history program with stories about grandma’s quilts or great-great-grandpa’s service in the Mormon Battalion. (That was actually satisfyingly short and interesting.) It was not the stifling heat in an un-air-conditioned lodge. (Though not pleasant, it provided fall-back conversation when the distant cousins visited one night and we had nothing else in common about which to talk.) It was not Cousin Bubba’s gleeful water barrages with a super-soaker that sprayed as forcefully as a fire hydrant. (At times, those attacks were almost welcome and invited.)

No, the bane of the family reunion for me was the straw tick mattress in the cabin to which my family was assigned. I knew going into this trip that accommodations described as “charmingly rustic” had to be unpleasantly primitive. “It’s only for three nights,” I comforted myself as I spread my sleeping bag and pillow out on one of the striped mattresses that, though bulky, appeared to be more substantial than the alternative choice, foam rectangles set in the bunks, which were basically plywood boxes.

That night, I climbed into my bunk close to 1 AM. I was exhausted, and although the cabin was a bit stuffy and warm, I fell asleep rather quickly—and woke up just minutes later. I couldn’t get comfortable. It was like trying to sleep on a bale of hay. I guess that’s because I was sleeping on a mattress of hay. I wriggled and writhed the rest of the night never finding my comfort zone. The next morning I felt as though my body had been put through a hay baler.

The next night I forced myself to go to bed earlier, because not only was I exhausted again, I planned to run a long run of 15 miles the following morning. Mercifully, I fell asleep rather quickly again, and stayed asleep almost an hour until the cabin door squeaked opened as the rest of my family crept in after watching a video in the main lodge.

They whispered, and bumped, and giggled, and clambered up onto their top bunks. I suppose they were trying to be quiet, but I became wide awake, and suddenly very aware again of my horribly uncomfortable mattress. It was lumpy and hard, and hurt my back…and everything else. Soon I noted the others’ peaceful, heavy breathing, and I knew I was the only one awake, still trying to find a comfortable position so I could sleep.

“Miserable mattress,” I seethed. As I squirmed and flopped around for a while longer, my frustration with the mattress transferred to my family. “Not fair…now THEY are sleeping, while I, whom they awoke, will never be able to get back to sleep on this crummy mattress.” I fumed, and found some sadistic satisfaction in the thought of my early alarm waking THEM up in a just a few hours. Although a sad commentary on my character, my vengeful imaginations comforted me back to sleep.

I planned for my last night on the mattress to be the best. My two oldest children and their spouses had left the reunion early, and so their foam mattresses would be unused. I took two of them and piled them on top of my straw tick, and put my sleeping bag on top of it all. Certainly only a princess would be able to feel the straw under six additional inches of foam padding. I guess I’m destined to become royalty. Alas, it was another restless, fitful night, although I think I actually had a dream about being comfortable.

Now I’m home, eagerly anticipating blissful sleep on my plush, king-size bed with its pillow-top cushioning. Although my nights on the cabin mattress were completely miserable, the fun and family camaraderie of the reunion well made up for my suffering insomnia. And in the long run, I think I will sleep happily ever after….zzzzzzzzz.

Posted by Cyppy at 10:24 PM  4 comments

He’s a football coaching legend at Brigham Young University, retired now, but known for his poker face and unflappable disposition whether his Cougars were crushing the opposition, or dismally losing. He mentored quarterback celebrities Jim McMahon, Steve Young, and Ty Detmer. He had only one losing season, an impressive .722 winning percentage, and won a National Championship. And now he was on my front porch, smiling, shaking my hand, and introducing himself. “Hi, I’m LaVell Edwards.”

My husband, a die-hard Cougars fan, was more awed and impressed by Edwards’ visit than I, although I admit to having felt a little privileged just because I knew of the tremendous reputation of the man. I was pleased to observe that he was very friendly, personable, and not at all arrogant, as he conversed very cordially and unaffectedly with me. His wife, Patti, was equally down-to-earth, and she too, chatted amiably as I took them down the street to stay for a couple of days at the home of a neighbor who was away on vacation.

The Edwards had graciously volunteered to speak at a special meeting at our church while they were in town for other business. We imagined what their topics might be: perhaps Coach Edwards would give us the inside scoop on his amazingly successful passing offense, and Patti, a newspaper columnist, would provide a “football widow’s” insight and suggestions for coping with sports-obsessed husbands. We were eager to hear what they had to say.

Their talks, though not what I had expected, were definitely not disappointing. They talked less of football, and more of faith. Patti spoke of honesty, and integrity, and how essential these qualities are to one’s self-worth. She told of her mother’s steadfast commitment to her religion despite opposition, and of her father’s reputation that garnered him a $50,000 loan based solely on a handshake.

LaVell’s talk was also interesting and inspiring. He stressed that each person needs to know who he is, and have the courage to accept his position and place in life. But he admonished that acceptance did not preclude steady work to move forward and progress. He illustrated his theme with motivational examples from some of his former players, including Steve Young, who initially was described as a player who would never be a quarterback. Young “went to work” said LaVell, and became one of the most successful quarterbacks not only at BYU, but in the NFL.

After the meeting, the Edwards willingly lingered to talk with the audience, sign autographs, and pose for pictures. Their meek, but certainly not weak, demeanor impressed me. These two people practiced what they preached. They were not prideful or condescending, but exuded a quiet confidence. Their spiritual strength is an obvious contrast to physical prowess demonstrated in LaVell’s former athletic contests. And in the long run, that quality of spiritual strength, more so than any win-loss record, is what makes LaVell and Patti Edwards true winners.

Posted by Cyppy at 8:28 PM  3 comments

For years people have labeled my family as “very competitive”. We accept the perceived negative connotations of this description with long-suffering, because, well, to be truthful, we ARE very competitive. Last week my married son and daughter and their spouses visited for a few days, and the opportunities to compete abounded.

Ping pong grudge matches are a given in our household, and my two sons and my husband whaled on each other with ferocity in several singles games. I played in some combative doubles matches with them myself. I wish I could say genteel manners and courteous conversation mark these ventures. Alas, I must admit that there is a fair amount of good-natured trash talking, power posturing, and in-your-face returns.

My son and my son-in-law, along with two other young men, muscled an orange bed down Main Street in the rodeo bed races. My daughter demurely rode on the bed. All were highly disappointed when they came in second, not first place. Somehow the consoling phrase, “It’s not whether you win or lose, it’s how you play the game” sounded bitterly hollow to these passionate competitors.

I introduced several family members to the joys of pickle ball. I remind you that although the name of the game sounds whimsical, pickleball can be a very cutthroat activity. Seven of us played on two courts for nearly three hours. The beginners caught on quickly and played with enthusiasm to exhaustion. A single game turned into best two out of three, then best three out of five, and so on, as everyone insisted on playing on for a personally golden game.

My son and his wife lamented that they had to leave for their 8-hour drive home on Sunday before the final competitive endeavor—Beyond Balderdash. It’s not just in physical contests that we strive with ardent zeal. My youngest son won the board game handily, proving that not only can he destroy aliens in video games, he can also playfully alienate his parents and siblings by destroying them with clever and cunning word play. All of us had moments of brilliance though, and some of the ingenious answers deserve recognition, so for your pleasure, carefully consider which of the following is the true description of Arnold Gingrich. No googling until AFTER you’ve selected an answer.

1. The man who served as the model for Superman in the Marvel comic book series.

2. The first publisher of Esquire magazine.

3. Walked blindfolded across America in a record-breaking 7 months and 11 days.

4. First man to cross the Atlantic Ocean in a hot air balloon.

5. First male gymnast to perform the now standard double gienger on the pommel horse.

Please feel free to let us know which answer you liked best, or even better, which incorrect answer convinced you that it was the right one. (We will turn this blog into a “best answer” competition….!)

Is competition bad? Does it encourage arrogance, selfishness, and a lack of compassion? I suppose in many cases it may. In my family, though, most of our competitive activities provide a setting that uniquely unites us, even as we strive to “one up” one another. We know each other better for having faced each other in keen competition. We enjoy the rivalry when we match our brawn and our brains against each other. We readily admit that endorphins and success are quite satisfactory and heady feelings. In the long run, it is for these reasons that we play competitively, and for the sheer delight and satisfaction of using our bodies and minds effectively…..table tennis, anyone?

Posted by Cyppy at 8:29 PM  3 comments

“….Wheel your weight away! Introducing the revolutionary, amazing, surprisingly simple exercise device guaranteed to melt those pounds right off your body! It’s The Wheel! Easy to use—just push The Wheel along as you jog a mere 30 minutes a day!......”

The high school track coach loaned me The Wheel so I could measure a route for a walk/run the YMCA is sponsoring in September. I thought the city pathway would be a suitable and pleasant “out and back” route. I wheeled along, whistling while I worked, (OK, so that was hyperbole) as I measured the proposed 1 mile, 5K and 10K distances. The Wheel clattered, I pattered, and at about 805 meters, or approximately ½ mile, I was right at the end of the first path segment. Perfect! This made a natural turnaround point for The One Mile Walk.

Quite pleased, I continued to push and jog. However the 5K and 10K distances did not work out as well. The turnaround for the 5K race measured 100 meters beyond a particularly inconvenient street crossing, which meant it would require the runners to cross twice within a couple of minutes. And unfortunately the path ended before I reached the accurate distance for a turnaround for the 10K race. These were two major shortcomings in my plan.

I stopped in the middle of the path and brainstormed solutions for making the routes precise, and yet pleasing.
A docile deer about 20 feet (about 7.5meters) off in the brush eyed me inquisitively, no doubt wondering what new type of exercise equipment this human was using. “It’s called The Wheel,” I muttered sarcastically.

I decided to measure several different loops off of the path on city streets, but I could never match the required distance to satisfactory routes. After two and a half hot and sweaty hours, I gave up. I wheeled back to my car, a bit frustrated, because I had really wanted to make the path fit my races.

That night, while pondering the problem, it occurred to me that I could just shorten the runs to 3 miles and 5 miles, and then the city path routes I had desired would work out almost perfectly for the event. After all, who says the runs have to be measured in kilometers?! Americans disregard the metric system all the time. Most people, even runners, are more familiar with miles than kilometers anyway. Changing my calculations from meters to miles was only a simple Google calculator click away.

As we wend life’s (or our city’s) paths, we can’t always make the path fit our plan, but perhaps we can tweak our plan to fit the path. Our solutions may not be revolutionary, amazing, or the subject of an infomercial. In fact, they may be surprisingly simple, as in my case with the race routes. After all, meters or miles don’t really make much difference to me. I’ll take my next long run on the city path without my fluorescent orange exercise equipment.

Posted by Cyppy at 10:46 PM  2 comments

I realize that many people scoff at the importance or necessity of good grammar. Informality rules the day, and speech and the written word are often means to an end in communication, rather than a strict and precise discipline in and of themselves. With such thinking, anything is acceptable. People may also think that learning rules, cases, and exceptions is boring, and a waste of time.

Using proper grammar requires discipline and control. It constrains the user to an orderly method and regimen. Success in almost any venture certainly requires at least a modicum of these attributes. The objection that adherence to proper grammar stifles creativity is groundless when one realizes that grammar is only a framework or vehicle, and the true creativity stems from the user’s ability to embellish, elaborate, and extend within the given syntax. Formal language and the ability to effectively communicate are what separate us from other animal life. And quite frankly, our grammar is going to the dogs.

Thus, I have deputized myself for a special task force on eradicating certain grammatical errors. Before continuing, I will make a disclaimer. My family and I don’t purport to have perfect grammar 100% of the time. (Well, perhaps my husband and sons strive for that distinction.) But here are a few simple, and altogether too frequent, grammatical errors that we see and hear each day that make us cringe, wince, and want to issue the following citations:

1. Misuse of Apostrophes and Contractions

Examples of the Offense:

Your a fanatic about grammar. (Correct: You’re a fanatic…)

Its an important skill. (Correct: It’s an important skill.)

Each rule has it’s own relevant reason’s. (Correct: Each rule has its own relevant reasons.)

Actually that last example is a Double Offense, punishable by 20 additional stripes with a wet noodle.

2. Improper Use of Pronouns

Example of the Offense:

Him and me are doing our English homework. (Correct: He and I…)

Again, the preceding example is a Double Offense.

3. Failure to Use Fewer

Example of the Offense:

I have less mistakes than you. (Correct: I have fewer…)

4. Not Caring Enough About Caring Less

Example of the Offense:

I could care less about grammar. (Correct: I couldn’t care less about grammar.)

For more common mistakes, see this Grammar Slammer website. But now, for fun, examine the concluding paragraph below, and find at least 15 grammatical errors, misspellings, and misused words NOT mentioned above. Then, post a comment detailing your findings!

Posted by Cyppy at 3:49 PM  5 comments